How the Dalai Lama fucked up my day

Stupid bastard middle-class twats thinking they're so 'spiritual'...

The plan yesterday was to get our next visit to the family in NZ sorted and to have lunch in town.

First was achieved with relative ease (no, NOT travelling first class).

Second... as we walked through town we kept seeing a lot of people with pink lanyards. At first we couldn't quite stare enough to read what they said. H.H. something or other... oh bugger. It's the Ice-Stadium filling crowd for His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

This meant that pretty much every snack food-selling outlet and restaurant/cafe in the vicinity of the city centre was at least 15-20 deep with queues waiting service. Where seats were available outside they were all taken; take-aways were spilling onto pavements in all directions. It was impossible to get close to food. We just about managed to break into the queues at Delilah Deli, and only just got served. There were numerous toffy-nosed voices spluttering about the indignity of having to wait 20 mins for a sandwich. The staff looked very frazzled (not a lot of Buddhist restful harmony in their lives at that moment). We made a swift exit with some humus and other counter goodies and got out.

We decided to head home for a grazing afternoon of food rather than trying to get something in town. And we had to make it fast or we would be inflicted with hearing The Displacements on stage in the Market Square as part of the free and poorly advertised Pulse musi festival. As Neil remarked, hearing The Displacements again would make it at least FIVE times too many.*

We had a nice afternoon with the doors open on our garden eating falafal and salami and bean salad. How bloody middle-class of us....



* We have 'only' seen The Displacements twice: once as support and last year at Summer Sundae. Why do I so loath them? Because their ENTIRE raison d'etre for being in a band is to get into girl's pants. As Scroobius Pip said: "Thou shalt not use poetry to get into girl's pants; use it to get into their heads". That would work if The Displacments' poor man's Indie PubRock lyrics even HAD any poetry of course....